Who Shot Brendan Birch? The Revamp Edition
by Br33zy
Summary: Hiatus. Was it the rival? The former champion? The best friend? With very little clues and confusing alibis, Detective Tony must answer the question on all our minds: Who shot Brendan Birch? And why?
1. Prologue

**Who Shot Brendan Birch?**

**Rating**: PG13 – coarse language, minor violence and some gory description (nothing too detailed)

**Genre**: Mystery/Humor

**Disclaimer**: Pokémon and other related characters do not belong to the author.

**Note**: This story is based around the characters of the R/S/E characters. This means NO ASH. However, other characters throughout the other gameboy/DS games, such as Steven Stone, Lance, etc. are fair play. So if you're looking for an anime based fic, you might want to take a gander somewhere else (hehe).

This is a rewrite of the former kind of glory that was the old WSBB . There are a few reasons why I didn't want to simply revamp the old version:

1. Too many characters. There are so many suspects (branching out of the original "keep it within Hoenn" that I wanted) for anyone to keep track of besides me.

2. Extremely atrocious grammar, even by my low standards. It would have been easier to re-write the story then go back and fix everything.

3. More use of forensic science and actual noticeable "clues" than reliance on eye-witness accounts.

I don't recommend reading the old WSBB as some characters and his/her alibi may change, whether it is a little or drastically. Doing so may confuse you. That and don't even think about reading the old version, cheaters! Yeah, I called you out on it. What are you going to do, punk (giggles)? We'll see how this version takes off before I post chapter I.

So enjoy. Rly.

* * *

**Prologue**

The autumn leaves crunched and scattered underneath the onslaught of police cars blazing down the empty streets of the sleepy town of Littleroot, rustling the slumbering Taillows from their nests and awakening the Zigzagoons who popped out from the bushes to the side of the road, entranced by the flashing red and blue of the sirens. The silver moonlight mixed with the gold light of the street lights, lighting the police officers way to the crime scene.

Swerving past a particularly rebellious Zigzagoon who sat in the middle of the road, its eyes glazed over, was a man driving a dark blue SUV, its tires screeching. He then turned into a small, suburban neighborhood where an ambulance and three other police cars were stationed. Pebbles crunching underneath his tires as he parallel parked across the crime scene, a two-story house complete with a rose garden and white picket fence, the man turned off his engine, its mighty roar fading into nothing but the sound of sizzling bugs jumping around the grill of his SUV.

The man opened the door and stepped out into the street, kicking loose asphalt around with his black leather shoes. He closed it with a satisfying slam, his tweed coat brushing behind him, before crossing the street, scaring away a baby Zigzagoon in the process. Examining the crime scene closely, he watched as one of his colleagues questioned a shivering suspects dressed in nothing except a light pink bathrobe, her hair up in curlers. A few yards away was a mother – probably the victim's – hunched over in the grass, pounding the dirt and crying hysterically, a man, who the detective recognized as the famous Hoenn researcher Professor Birch, hunched over beside her, his head close to hers as he rubbed her nightwear clad back soothingly.

The man walked and stood next to a police officer who was busily scribbling notes on a clipboard, shivering as the cold, nippy night air blew against his face.

"What took you so long?" the officer grumbled in a gruff voice, not looking up from his notes. He pushed up a pair of reading glasses up to the bridge of his nose.

"Traffic, Jacob," the man replied coolly. "It is my day off anyway. Why am I being called, especially at midnight?"

The officer shrugged. "You know we've been short on officers, Tony. We need all the help we can get, especially for a high profile case like this."

"And what exactly are we dealing with?"

The officer, known as Jacob, handed the detective his clipboard. Immediately Detective Tony began to flip through the papers, his eyebrows furrowing together. "Attempted homicide? Here? Littleroot is such a nice town too. Why would someone want to do this?"

"I don't know. You're the detective. You tell me." Officer Jacob took back his clipboard, scribbling more notes.

The detective frowned as he watched the EMT wheel out a gurney from the well-kept cherry wood porch. It was hard to take in the boy's description from his distance, but he noticed the bright white hair of the boy. "This boy," the detective muttered, watching the EMTs wheel the gurney and the boy inside the ambulance. "He's Brendan Birch, isn't he?"

"Brendan!" The two colleagues snapped their head up from the clipboard as they watched a girl, barely clad in a tank top and shorts, her hair up in a towel, run barefoot toward the ambulance, her arms outstretched as if they would reach the boy. She then tried to swipe at the gurney but was held back by another police officer. In hysterics, the girl kicked and screamed as they dragged her away.

"If that didn't answer your question, yes, that's Brendan Birch," the officer replied, absent-minded. "Fifteen years old, son of Professor Birch, Pokémon Trainer, just won the-"

"Hoenn Pokémon League," the detective interrupted. "I watched that today. I was amazed how that boy managed to knock out Steven's Pokémon so quickly at such a type advantage."

"Yeah, well ..." The police officer held the clipboard to his side and gazed upon the modest house, lights shining from every crack and cranny. "Tony, anyone could have tried to kill this guy just because he won the League. His friends, the former champion, rivals, fans, his _family_ even."

Detective Tony cracked his knuckles and smirked. "I always liked a challenge. Did you investigate the crime scene yet?"

"Nope. We were waiting for you."

"Then let's get to it."

Detective Tony and Officer Jacob stepped forward toward the house, advancing toward the curious neighbors, the agitated family members and friends, and the sad tale of a Pokémon Master's story who's close demise would probably outlive his championship.

Needless to say, the same question revolved in every person's head involved in this case: Who shot Brendan Birch?

* * *

See, it's already different from the first version. Rawr fish!

LaTeR dAyZ!


	2. Chapter I

Well, it's not going to be _entirely_ different. You might even recognize this introduction from the old one, lawl. I apologize to old readers that waited around for an update and get forced to re-read older chapters. But it needed to be done so I could insert more clues.

Ya! Lol. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter I**

"Brendan Birch, recent winner of the Hoenn Pokémon League, has been reported to have been shot late last night after his victory party. More details to come."

"Brendan Birch, at the young age of fifteen years old, was shot last night around appropriately four o'clock this morning. Investigators say that-"

"The Pokémaster's Brunch today was canceled due to the attack on new Hoenn Pokémon Champion Brendan Birch. Condolences to him and his loved ones out there-"

"The question on everyone's mind today is: Who shot Brendan Birch? While this question remains-"

"Detectives are still not sure who and why someone would attack young Birch at four in the A.M. If you have any information, please contact our hot line at (745) 9-"

"Brendan Birch is currently being hospitalized at the Chansey Hospital in Rustboro. We are getting thousands of e-mails from Brendan's fans who are trying to console their grief. Take this one for example: It saddens me that after one day of being champion, people are already out to get him-"

"Turn it off!" a girl finally screamed before going into a fit of hysterical crying.

"May, they're just news reports," muttered the boy next to her. Nevertheless, he turned the television off with the remote, causing the screen to fizzle and crackle. He then promptly threw the remote over his shoulder, causing it to collide with the wall behind him and get angry glares in return.

"But they keep repeating the goddamn awful news, Wally!" she wailed, clutching onto her tissue for dear life. "I just can't take hearing it anymore!"

"He's not dead," muttered the boy named Wally, rubbing the back of his neck. "But you make it seem like it."

"How are you staying so calm?" the girl demanded. "Wasn't he your friend?"

The boy sighed. "In a way," he finally murmured.

- - -

"Don't we have to speak with Brendan at the hospital for evidence soon?" Officer Jacob muttered as he and Detective Tony bent over a bush in front of the Birch's home later on in the day. The noon sun shone overhead, beating down hard on their backs as Taillows twittered in the clear, blue sky.

"Let me rephrase that for you. Don't _you_ have to speak with Brendan at the hospital for evidence soon?" the detective replied coolly, his gloved hands gripping the tweezers tightly in his hands. He carefully brushed away a few branches and twigs as to not upset the crime scene.

"Really?" the officer rolled his eyes, standing up and wiping his latex gloved hands on his dark pants. "You're going to make me do all the boring work while you get to play in the dirt?"

"It's not playing in the dirt. It's working in the dirt."

"What's the difference?"

"I get paid." Detective Tony carefully plucked a feather stuck on a thorn of a rose bush and stood up, showing it to Officer Jacob. "Feather," he murmured, carefully placing it in a clear plastic bag and holding it up to the light. "Kind of whitish-silver, a thick shaft, puffy vanes ... Who's that Pokémon?"

"An Altaria?" Officer Jacob grabbed hold of the bag and cautiously examined it. "Skarmory?"

"Possibly, but it could have come from an older bird Pokémon. Like humans and their hair, bird Pokémon's feathers tend to turn grayish-white with old age."

"So we're looking for either a bird Pokémon with silver or white wings or an experienced trainer." Officer Jacob stepped outside of the Birch's rose garden, pebbles crunching underneath his feet and onto the dirt road. He squatted, looking at the tracks in front of him. They were huge for a Pokémon's footprint – about the size of a human's – with three toes. "There was some sort of Pokémon here that isn't a Taillow or Zigzagoon." Pulling out a camera, he snapped a picture of them. "This guy wasn't stupid; he made sure his tracks were covered at least."

Detective Tony stood up, wiping beads of sweat off his forehead, his eyes squinting from the sunlight. "Not quite," he said, looking down and noticing the back of Jacob's shoes. "This garden is filled with tiny pebbles that can get caught in the grooves of shoes. If we can round up a reasonable amount of suspects, we can check their shoes. So go, Jacob! Go talk to Brendan and round up suspects like the good officer you are!" Jacob glared at Tony who smiled sheepishly in return. "Fine. Let me finish up here and we'll go together."

"Aw mah god. It'll be like our first date!" Jacob squealed like a school girl.

Detective Tony carefully stepped around the rose bush closest to the window and examined it, pressing his latex-gloved hand against the cold glass where a bullet hole was formed. He took a picture of it before carefully running a finger down the shattered glass. "It wasn't from a far distance," he murmured, running his finger around the bullet hole, "otherwise these line fragments around the bullet hole would have held a different shape. And let's be frank; if it were from far away, it would probably taken more than one shot."

The detective carefully stepped out of the rose bush and stood next to Officer Jacob and then took his gun out from his holster, raising it arm's length away as if to envision the perpetrator. "Assuming his bird Pokémon was next to him for quick getaway, the suspect should have shot directly where I'm standing," Tony said. "I'm six foot two and I'm a few inches taller from where the bullet entered the window."

"So our suspect is around ... five foot eight, five foot nine?" Officer Jacob determined. "At least shorter than Brendan if all he hit was his shoulder."

Detective Tony snorted. "All he hit?"

"You know what I mean."

Shaking his head, Tony beckoned to a lower ranking police officer who quickly ran over. "Mind if you can encase these bird Pokémon's prints in concrete and give this feather to the lab to check what Pokemon this is?" He handed the enclosed feather to the police officer and pointed to the tracks a few feet away. "Oh, and try to overlook the scene just in case we missed anything. Jacob and I need to run over to the hospital to check on our Mr. Birch."

The lower ranking police officer nodded and saluted his higher ranking authority.

"Are you ready?" Tony asked his partner as the two watching the other police officer rummaged through a nearby van for supplies.

"To hear whining girls scream and parents bitch about why we're prodding around in their personal lives?" the officer replied with a grim smile.

"Of course."

"Can't wait."

- - -

The boy continued to tug on the sleeve of the girl collapsed on the couch as if this would budge her to stand up. "C'mon, May," he said through gritted teeth, annoyed with how stubborn the girl was. "Brendan's been _dying_ to see you!"

"Don't say that word!" the girl screeched, covering her ears, kicking the boy in the stomach with her foot.

The boy immediately released the girl from his grip and keeled over, coughing, clutching onto his stomach. "Ugh ..."

"Give May some time, Wally dear," said an older lady in the corner, reading a magazine. She looked up and smiled. "She is feeling down since she was at Brendan's house a few minutes before the shooting happened. She'll see him in time."

"When?" the boy asked stubbornly as he paced the rough carpeted floor. "He keeps asking to see her whether delirious from the medication or not."

"Tell Brendan that May isn't feeling up to it right now-"

The older woman was interrupted as a flushed, middle-aged man burst through the doors of the hospital, sweat running from his dark hairline and down the side of his face. He smoothed out the wrinkles in his maroon jacket to make himself look more presentable before turning to the older woman. "Tried to get here as fast as I could," he said, panting. "Heard the awful news from a video message from Professor Birch. Drove as fast as I could over here without running anyone over." Walking over to the girl on the couch, he patted her head softly as if to soothe her before turning to the boy who was slowly regaining posture. "Where is he?" he asked sharply.

"The South ... Hall ... Room... 26 ..." the boy said between deep breaths.

The older man nodded as a way of thanks and walked swiftly down the dark hallway.

"Well, that was odd," the boy admitted, standing up fully.

"Oh, don't mind my husband," the older woman with the magazine replied with a smile. "He's just tense that a boy he considers one of his sons was shot. Why don't you visit Brendan with him? I'm sure he could use a friend."

"Heh, friend." The boy shook his head but ran down the hallway toward Brendan's hospital room anyway. "The day I become friends with that kid ..."

Meanwhile, as the boy walked down the hallway, two familiar figures entered the hospital, one trying to organize papers while walking and the other nonchalantly removing his sunglasses from his face, pocketing them in the pocket of his dark slacks. The detective ran a cool hand through his tousled brown hair, his dark green eyes calmly taking in the room as his partner clumsily dropped a few papers, hastily picking them up and shoving them back in order. Sighing, he managed to finally clip the papers onto his clipboard, adjusting the square frames of his eyeglasses on his nose and taking off his cap to wipe off sweat, revealing his short, spiky black hair. The duo made their way to the blue marble counter top of the hospital's information desk where a nurse sat, busy chatting on the phone as she twirled the spiral wire of the phone with her index finger.

"Excuse me, miss," the detective said, leaning on the counter and tapping a finger on the top. "I'm with the crime lab of Rustboro and we're here to see Mr. Brendan Birch. If you may, can you please tell us what room-"

"Just a minute," the nurse interrupted, holding up a finger to shush the detective.

Detective Tony stared at the nurse sceptically. "Miss, I hate to be rude, but it won't take that much of your time. I just need the room of-"

"I said just. A. Minute," the nurse said in harsh, short sentences. She then crossed her legs and sat back in her revolving chair, still twirling the phone's wire with her index finger and chatting on the phone, her open mouth chewing bubble gum.

Officer Jacob rolled his eyes as Detective Tony looked up toward the ceiling, whistling a tune to himself. Slowly, his eyes trailed down from the ceiling to the nurse, resting themselves on the rather large bosoms of the nurse. Smirking, he confidently stated, "You have some excellent badonkers there."

The nurse, wide-eyed, open-mouthed, put her hand over the speaker of the phone and glared at the detective. "Excuse me?" she asked ludicrously.

"You heard me," Detective Tony replied with a smug smile. "I bet you could smuggle three- no, four anorexic midgets in between those mountains."

"Sir, I really don't think that's an appropriate-"

"You know, this awkward conversation could have been avoided if you've done your job and given us the room number for Brendan Birch," the detective interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

Sighing, the nurse put the phone down on the counter top and flipped through some papers. Pulling one out from the stack, she read out loud: "Brendan Birch, room 26, south hall. It should be the very last room to your right." She pointed to her left before picking up the phone, glaring at a contently smiling Detective Tony before continuing her phone conversation.

The officer and the detective swiftly walked down the south hallway, Officer Jacob shaking his head in shame. "You're such a pig. You do you have children."

"So what are you saying? I'm a pig because I have children or I shouldn't have children if I want to be a pig?"

"Whatever."

Still smirking, the duo stopped in front of a tinted window at the end of the hallway, revealing the inside of room 26, Brendan Birch's hospital room. They carefully examined the room and the contents within it. The room was painted a cheery light blue with a small television mounted in the top right corner and an open window blowing a light breeze in through the white lace curtains. Beams of golden sunlight danced and bounced off the walls, landing directly on the head of a boy - probably Brendan - sitting up in bed. The boy stirring slightly, his dark red eyes slightly open. His right hand gently prodded his heavily bandaged left shoulder, visible underneath the thin, light green hospital robes, the wind running its fingers through his snowy-white hair. Around him were several people, looking at him anxiously.

"So who is who in this happy, little picture?" Detective Tony asked, resting a finger on his chin where light stubble poked through. He then pointed toward a man with dark-brown hair and large arm muscles covered in a long, white laboratory coat. "That's obviously Professor Birch, one of Hoenn's top Pokémon Researchers and the father of Brendan Birch. That woman with the short hair and clinging to the professor's arm is probably his wife and Brendan's mother."

Officer Jacob tapped the window to direct their attention to the man at the foot of the bed who's hand were shoved deep in the pockets of his gray slacks, pushing the sleeves of his maroon jacket up, his ebony hair thickly gelled, not fazed by the breeze blowing through. "That's Norman, father of May Maple. Norman is also the gym leader of the Petalburg City."

"Ah, so who's May Maple?"

The detective's question was quickly answered as the duo turned their head at the sound of thumping coming down the hallway. Speeding toward them was a girl, no older than the age of Brendan, tears streaming from her deep, blue eyes, her chestnut-brown hair unloosening itself from underneath her red and white bandanna. Her black biker shorts made a funny noise as she ran, the edge of her layered red and white t-shirt flapping behind her. She skidded to a stop in front of Brendan's room and quickly opened the door, wiping away tears with her white gloves before slamming the door behind her. The two noticed that her antics and her presence quickly grabbed the attention of the people within room 26. Her tears steadily falling from her eyes like a river, May pushed aside a boy and Norman and jumped on top of Brendan, making the detective and officer wince along with Brendan.

"That had to hurt," Detective Tony said, his eye twitching.

- - -

"May!" Brendan managed to gasp out as the two toppled over onto his bed, wheezing, trying to catch his breath and ignore the pain the girl inflicted by pressing her head into his wounded shoulder. "Gah, help, please..."

"Okay, May, that's enough," Norman muttered, shaking his head, prying the girl off her friend with the jaws of life. "May-_May_!"

May held her death grip on the poor boy's arm, but eventually was pried free with the help of Wally. She looked at Brendan, a huge smile on her face, tears dripping down her cheeks as the boy groggily sat back up, rubbing the back of his head with his right hand. She clasped her gloved hands together, resting her chin on them. "Don't you ever scare me like that again, Brendan Birch! I was so scared! All these news reports, this smelly hospital, last night, _everything_ has freaked me out! You could have ... you could have-" She collapsed onto her knees, resting her head on Brendan's lap, sobbing, unable to speak coherent sentences.

Brendan rubbed May's back awkwardly but comfortably. "May, it's okay. I'm fine. I'm not dead."

May's response was a loud sniffle as she continued to soak Brendan's hospital gown with her tears.

The people in the room continued to look and stand around in an awkward silence until another person luckily broke the silence with the opening creak of a door. Peeking his disheveled, silver-haired head in, a sharply dressed man entered, his steely gray eyes taking in the scene. Adjusting the collar of his dark orange shirt, he stood next to Norman, nodding at both the gym leader and Pokémon researcher in acknowledgment.

"Sorry I'm late," the man apologized. "That Pokémaster's Brunch took longer than I thought." He smiled at Brendan who grinned back in return. "How are you, Brendan?"

"As long as they keep giving me Vicodin, I'm fine," the boy said jokingly. "Don't worry about me." He then turned to his dad. "Dad, when can I leave? This place has some shitty-"

"No cussing!" his mother warned, glaring at him.

"...not delicious food," Brendan finished, rolling his eyes.

Professor Birch shook his head. "Now Brendan, I want to make sure you're okay before we allow you to leave. I want the doctor's evaluation before you are even allowed to leave this room, let alone the hospital."

"Dad! You make me sound like ... a car or something!" Brendan complained.

- - -

"Okay, and who is this green-haired kid?" Detective Tony asked outside the room, pointing at a boy standing next to the professor and his wife, clad in a loose, button up white shirt and khaki pants through the room's window.

Officer Jacob flipped through his notes. "Wally Wood, Pokémon trainer. He placed seventh in the Hoenn League, losing the fight to Brendan himself. The two have had a long time rivalry between each other. Another prime suspect."

"Kind of like why we suspect May. She too has known Brendan for awhile and could have some ... hidden jealously underneath those tears," the detective added. "Norman also could have tried to shoot Brendan out of feelings for his daughter."

"I suppose. Anyone close to Brendan is fair play really." Officer Jacob looked at Steven who was laughing along with Brendan. "Steven even with him being former Pokémon Champion of Hoenn."

The detective sighed, walking past his partner and putting a hand on the silver doorknob of room 26. "Ready for this?" he uttered more to himself than his colleague.

The officer shrugged, stepping behind the detective, one hand in his pocket to pull out his badge. "Whenever you are."

The detective felt all eyes rest on him as he opened the door and entered the room. "I'd hate to interrupt this happy scene," Detective Tony muttered, brushing loose hair away from his eyes while pulling out his badge, "but I'm with the Rustboro Police Department's crime lab, and I need all of you to come down to the station."

* * *

Yep!

LaTeR dAyZ!


	3. Chapter II

In between my unhealthy obsession with that live feed of puppies, I have finally written a chapter! Kekeke. I must hurry as they might wake up and do something cute as I type this.

In case you can't piece it together, sections of story that are in _italics_ indicate either a flashback or a scenario. This is so I could write about past events without having to refer to character dialogue to tell it.

Enjoy! And thanks for the reviews!

* * *

**Chapter II**

The room was chilly where cold air nipped at flesh and pricked up skin. Three ceiling lamps, dimly lit, slowly swung back and forth, making the shadows on the wall dance. The air was tense. It was almost troubling to breathe.

In front of Detective Tony was the young girl known as May Maple who nervously dug her fingernails into her upper arm, staring at her reflection in the mirror-like window. "Do you know why you're here?" he finally asked, tapping his ballpoint pen on the metal table top.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Detective Tony watched curiously as May turned her head, her eyes going up and down with the movement of his pen like an entranced Skitty to a ball of wool.

"You think ... I shot him," she said quietly, not taking her eyes off the pen.

Detective Tony nodded, turning the tape recorder next to him on. The small bulb on the recorder blinked a few times before settling to a blaring red. "Not unless you have reason for me to not believe that."

May immediately glared at the detective for making this statement. "Oh?" she said, laughing to herself. "And why do you think I would kill Brendan? I am his best friend after all. We've been traveling on the road about a year and a half now."

The detective pondered this statement. "Did you know, May, that the suspect of a crime is never too far away from the victim? I don't mean that by location either. That is it is usually close family members or friends that snap and turn on each other. Random acts of violence always get reported in the media, sure, but they are very, very rare. Domestic disputes, family troubles ... Now those are the things you should worry about. People that are close to you are the ones that you should be more afraid of instead of that shady character who likes to walk up and down the sidewalk with a bagful of groceries."

Narrowing her eyes, May bit her lip, making it turn a pale pink. "Enlighten me then. Why do you think I would try to kill him?"

"Well, you are his best friend, as you said yourself," Detective Tony answered coolly. "But you were more than just his best friend, right? You were one of his rivals. Don't deny this. It's easily detectable in your televised Pokémon battles with Mr. Birch."

May opened her mouth and closed it several times, looking like a gaping fish.

Detective Tony smirked at this. "Let me paint a scenario for you," he said, closing his eyes thoughtfully while resting his chin on his entwined fingers. "You left Brendan's house at three thirty..."

_May stood at Brendan's doorway, leaning on the wooden door frame and smiling as Brendan busily threw empty red cups into a black trash bag. "Need any help?" she asked as Brendan let out a huge yawn._

_Dropping the black bag to the floor, Brendan cracked his back, stretching his arms into the air. "I'm about ready to screw it and let my dad deal with it tomorrow." He laughed as he headed toward May, grabbing the door frame with his hand and leaning his weight against his arm. "So, I'll see you tomorrow?" he asked, looking into the girl's deep blue eyes. "I have that Pok_é_mon Brunch thing or something, right?"_

_May smiled, pushing herself up to hug her arms against her chest, shivering as a cold gust of air blew against her tiny frame. "Yeah. It's for all the trainers that ranked in the top twenty though, Brendan."_

_Brendan scoffed at this. "Oh, c'mon, May. It's obviously for me."_

"...You were jealous. Jealous of your best friend. Jealous that he won the League based on _luck_. It disgusted you. But you hid it..."

_May rolled her eyes. "Whatever you say, Brendan. I'll meet you here at nine." Giving her friend a quick hug, May took off down the dirt path toward, the streetlight guiding her home. She heard the creak of Brendan's front door close with a satisfying shut._

"...But you really weren't going home. Were you?"

_May peeked her head above the bushes outside of Brendan's window, watching him gaze over the disastrous scene that was the aftermath of his celebration party. She saw Brendan sigh as he picked up the black garbage bag and continued to shovel dirty paper plates crusted with food into it. Shakily, May pushed herself onto her knees and dug into her yellow fanny pack that was clipped tightly around her hips. Pulling out a revolver, she saw her blue eyes tear up in the reflection of the steely silver gun. Shakily, May carefully wrapped her right index finger around the trigger. She took aim when Brendan turned his back to the window._

"The opportunity was right. You could easily murder him, and he wouldn't even see it coming. But no. Shooting him that close would be a bad idea. You could injure yourself if the glass reflected back into your direction, right? That wouldn't sit well with detectives if you had a glass-related injury."

_The girl carefully crept out of the bushes, still clutching the gun tightly. She straightened her body slowly and clumsily, her knees wobbly and about to buck over. Brendan's back was still facing the window as he continued knocking cups on the counter into the trash bag. She had to do it. She had to teach that egotistical moron a lesson._

_With her eyes squinted, May pulled the trigger. It was hard to see what happened after that._

_She remembered there was a stream of red._

_And then he dropped to the floor._

"Panicking, you released your flying-type. Your Swellow," Detective Tony concluded, watching May quiver with observant eyes. "You knew that you would leave a trail of footprints from the crime scene to your house. You couldn't get caught! So you flew back to your home on your Swellow so you wouldn't leave a trail!"

"None of that is true! I was no where around Brendan's house when that happened!" May cried, tears streaming down her face. She wiped at her cheeks furiously, scrunching up her nose. "I was taking a shower! You even saw me with my hair up in a towel!"

"Then you tell me," Detective Tony argued, pulling out a copy of the shoe prints found outside of Brendan's garden and transparent copy of May's shoe print that he took early along with the other line of suspects. He placed the transparent sheet above the picture. The grooves of May's shoe print fit in perfectly with the ones taken at the scene of the crime. "Why were your footprints found inside the Birch's garden? An awkward place to walk, isn't it?"

May trembled more violently, her breathing becoming more rapid.

Detective Tony leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and looking at May nonchalantly. "May, all signs are pointing to you right now. Not unless you have a good reason why you were wandering outside Brendan's window, you're just going to remain one of the primary suspects."

The girl looked down, still shaking, while clutching her arms tightly. "None of that is true," she said quietly. "I wouldn't shoot Brendan ..."

"Then you tell me what you were doing there."

"I ... I ..."

_May peeked her head above the bush and pressed her fingers against the wall of Brendan's house, peering into the window while making sure not to press her forehead against the cold glass. She watched as he pulled out a Poké__Nav and dialed a number. After a few seconds of waiting, she saw him beam brightly as he talked to the person on the device. Raising an eyebrow, she continued to watch him pace the room back and forth as he talked. She read his lips, and she could have sworn he mouthed an "I love you." _

"I knew he met some girl at the League," she said softly. "There were rumors that they were ... 'seeing' each other. I just ... I needed ... I wanted to know if it were true. And I guess it is." She sighed again, more tears forming in her eyes.

_May continued to observe window like Brendan were a caged animal in the zoo. She watched him laugh. She watched him smile wider. Then, for a brief second, darkness overcame her and a whip of brisk air brushed past her. Quickly, May turned around and looked behind her, trying to see if someone were there._

"I would have stayed to get more proof that Brendan were on the phone with this girl, but a shadow from overhead flew by. I freaked out, so I ran back home and took a shower. You got to believe me." She stood up, pressing her hands against the cold table and leaning in toward the detective, her eyes aflame. "Besides, you told me that you found a silver feather at the scene. My Swellow is only a year old. He's way too young for him to be aging."

- - -

Officer Jacob returned to Brendan's home, clutching a black leather suitcase in his right hand. He ducked under the yellow police tape and stepped up the stone steps of the house, turning around to take in the scene through squinted eyes. Carefully tugging at his latex gloves, Officer Jacob wrapped his hand the solid brass doorknob of the Birch's front door and pushed it open, the door opening with a slight creak. The smell of cold pizza, fruit punch, and – of course – the metallic tinge of blood overwhelmed his nostrils.

Making his way toward the living room where Brendan was shot, Officer Jacob squatted on the floor and examined the blood splatters on the floor. His eyes followed the trail, trying to imagine the path of the bullet. The trail started near the thick pool of blood where Brendan fell after he got shot. The officer ignored this though and delicately examined the tear-shaped splatters of blood. The first splatters had thick, round bases but short, thin stems. Gradually, the bases of the blood drops grew thinner and more narrow while the stems elongated.

"If Brendan were shot by a person standing on the floor, then these blood splatters would be more consistent with each other. No, the shooter had to be off the ground." he muttered. "The shooter shot him while he was flying then? Skill. That or he's a giant." Putting his suitcase on the ground, Officer Jacob took a hold of the camera that hung around his neck

Officer Jacob then noticed the black trash bag near the pool of blood. Debating in his head whether he wanted to put himself through this disgusting task or let a rookie deal with it, Jacob decided to be the bigger man and do it himself. He opened the bag and was greeted with the rotten stench of half-eaten food. Making a foul face, he began to dig through the bag, shifting past plates seeping with oil and cups still a quarter-filled with liquid. Then his hand hit something solid and cold. Grabbing a hold of it, he pulled his hand out of the bag. In his tight grasp was a gun – a revolver to be exact.

"What the?" he asked, examining the revolver with wide eyes. He traced his thumb down the bumpy, black grip panel of the revolver, his blurry image reflecting in the silver frame. He checked the cylinder of the gun for bullets – empty. Unlatching his suitcase, Jacob pulled out a clear plastic bag and bagged the gun. "Weird." He wasn't sure what troubled him the most. Was it the fact that the shooter had the audacity to throw the gun where the scene of the crime is? Or was it because Brendan himself was now a suspect in trying to shoot himself?

- - -

"You want to know who I think did it?" Wally asked, leaning back in his chair with his legs kicked up on the table.

Detective Tony looked disdainfully at Wally's informal position but didn't respond.

"I think it was Steven," Wally answered anyway. "He told us that he was at the Pokémon Brunch, but that was canceled according to news reports. I think he was hiding but then came later because it would look suspicious. I mean, he has the motive to do so, being the former champion and all. And Brendan winning was totally a fluke."

Tony only smiled. "That's pure speculation. You have no proof of that."

"Well hmph." Wally crossed his arms and scowled. "If you need evidence for _everything,_ this case is going to take awhile."

"Well, that's the point. Evidence is needed to prove someone innocent ... or guilty." Detective Tony filtered through his papers, pulling one out and stacking it on top of the others. "Now it says here that you placed seventh in the League."

Wally rolled his eyes. "That was a fluke too. Brendan _somehow_ managed to beat me with his Swampert while I had my Roselia out. I swear. That kid cheated his way to the top."

Detective Tony raised an eyebrow. "Why do you think that?"

_Wally peeked his head around the corner of the locker room where Brendan sat on the bench, his Swampert standing in front of him. He held his breath and pressed his back closer against the wall._

"_Take this. It'll help you during the battle," he heard Brendan mutter to his Swampert. Wally noticed some pills clutched in Brendan's hand._

_The Swampert bent over and sniffed at his trainer's hand only to pull away in repulsion, his face scrunching up._

"_Come on, buddy," Brendan pleaded. "Just hold your breath and swallow them down."_

_Hesitantly, the Swampert grabbed a hold of the pills, looking at them with wonder. He opened his mouth a crack and down the pills, gulping and gasping before coughing heavily, the disgust more apparent in his face._

_Brendan smiled and patted his Swampert on the back. "Atta boy."_

"Those are some ... dangerous accusations," Detective Tony muttered. "If those were Pokémon power-ups, Brendan could lose his title. Power ups are against the rules after your reach the top ten, right?"

Wally nodded. "Anyway, that's why I think someone would try to kill him. No one likes a cheater."

"Even you?"

"Of course I don't, but I've always disliked Birch." Wally then quickly added, "But not enough to try and kill him if that's what you're thinking."

"Wally, I think that about everyone close to Brendan. But of course that 'innocent until proven guilty' garbage always stands in my way." Detective Tony smiled. A loud vibration on the table sounded. Pushing himself up and out of his chair, the detective grabbed his cell phone from off the table and answered the call. "Yes, Jacob?" he asked, walking away from Wally so he couldn't hear the conversation.

"Tony, I just found a revolver in a garbage bag back at the Birch's residence," Officer Jacob replied over the loud beeping of machines in the background. "I brought it back to the laboratory and dusted it for prints. I ran the prints through the database and came up with a Mr. Wally Wood. There was also a green strand of hair caught in the cylinder."

Detective Tony turned around and watched the green-haired trainer stare at the ceiling while tapping his fingers on the table. "Thanks, Jacob. That will help a lot." Detective Tony hung up the phone and walked back to the table. "Mr. Wood, we have a problem."

Wally raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What's that?"

"Your prints and a strand of your hair were found in a gun located at the Birch's home. Mind explaining that one to me?"

Wally pursed his lips, his face turning a pale white. "I can explain that."

Detective Tony scoffed. "I look forward to it."

* * *

Back to puppies!

LaTeR dAyZ!


	4. Chapter III

**.................................  
Chapter III  
.................................**

"Say 'ahh.'"

Wally looked disgustedly at Detective Tony who bent over across the steel desk, a q-tip clutched in between his fingers. Reluctantly complying, the boy opened his mouth, rolling his eyes to the side, obviously annoyed. Tony quickly swiped the inside of Wally's cheeks before pulling the q-tip out, carefully placing it in a thin, plastic container.

"What was that for?" he muttered, wiping at saliva that escaped from his mouth.

"We want to make sure that the hair on the gun is actually your hair," replied the detective, pulling out his briefcase and dropping it on the table with a satisfying thunk. He opened it, the unlatching a pleasant noise in the awkwardly quiet room. "That being said, even if you do have an alibi about why your fingerprints and hair were on that gun, we can use your DNA to further prove you _didn't_ shoot Mr. Birch. So ..." Detective Tony quickly glanced at his tape recorder to make sure it was on before placing the plastic-contained q-tip in his case. "You said you could explain the gun."

"It's simple really. It's not mine." Wally then paused, pondering his statement. "I know that sounds ... unrealistic, but it's true. Have you bothered to check up the serial number on it? Granted, I know you detectives are all, 'Oh, ho, ho! Fingerprints! He did it!' but if you did check, you can see it's not registered in my name. And common sense wise, someone my age can't own a gun anyway."

Detective Tony tapped his pen on the table, frustrated. "All right. That still doesn't explain how _your_ fingerprints and _your_ hair got on the gun. And if it's not your gun, then who's is it?"

"Norman's."

This made the detective raise an eyebrow. "Norman ... Maple? May's dad?"

Wally nodded firmly. "Yeah. He told me it didn't work though. It was for a prank."

"A ... prank?"

"You need constant reaffirmation of everything, don't you? Yes, a prank."

"_Wally, take this."_

_Thrust in the unwilling hands of the green-haired trainer was a gun._

"_Uh – wha?" Wally looked around. Surely if Norman wanted to deposit a gun in his disposal, he wouldn't do it in the middle of a crowded room, especially during a party with several eye-witnesses. "Listen, uh ... If you did something 'bad,' then that's your own fault. Don't drag me into this."_

_Norman rolled his eyes. "I didn't kill anyone. Relax."_

_Wally shuddered as the back of the gun pressed into his chest when a passerby brushed up against him. "So what do you want me to do with it then?" He examined the gun's sleek, silver flame, his image blurry in its reflection._

_Norman looked back and forth, brushing a bright red balloon away that floated in his direction. "All the new Hoenn League champions have had a joke played on them. A prank if you will. It's an odd tradition that us gym leaders decided to start years ago."_

"_Involving guns?"_

_Norman chuckled. "Well, not all the time. Don't worry; the gun doesn't work anyway. It's an old one of mine that I used for protection at the gym just in case of intrusions." He put his arm around the fidgety Wally and whispered. "So here's what we'll do. Flannery and I are going to distract Brendan." He fished around in the pocket of his pants, shaking out a black ski mask and handing it to Wally. "You're going to put this on and burst through the front door, pretending to 'stick up' the joint. Sound good?"_

_Wally wasn't too sure but agreed anyway. "Whatever you say, Norman." _

_Norman gave the poor boy a reassuring pat on the back, almost making Wally stumble and drop the gun. Regaining his composure, he watched as Norman walked over to Brendan who was busy chatting it up with fellow trainers. Nauseated by the sick joke, Wally made his way to the kitchen and to the corner where a plastic trash container was stationed. He lifted the lid with his free hand, looking down grimly at the trash._

"_Good riddance," he muttered, dropping the gun into the trash. _

"Classy prank," remarked Tony sarcastically, crossing his arms.

The trainer nodded in response. "I thought so too. That's why I trashed the gun. I don't like Brendan, but that just sounded cruel. Even for him. And I knew my ass would get in trouble for doing that anyway." Wally leaned back in his chair, smiling smugly. "Believe me now?"

- - -

"... That Wally is one cocky ass hat."

"That's a new one. Ass hat. I might use it."

Officer Jacob turned his head toward the door where his colleague stood, leaning on the cold, metal frame with one hand while biting into a sandwich with the other. The smell of peanut butter and jelly overwhelmed the officer's nostrils as the detective made his way closer. He sighed, paying attention to the work in front of him.

"Is this really an appropriate place to eat?" he asked, picking up the revolver he found at Brendan's home. He made its shiny exterior glint in the light, blinking a bit when he blinded himself with it. "You're going to get crumbs all over the place."

Detective Tony chewed thoughtfully before swallowing. "Unlike you, Jacob, I have found the invention of chewing and swallowing quite useful."

"Right." Jacob sighed again, picking up a q-tip with his right hand and holding the revolver with his left. He stared down the barrel of the gun and swabbed it, pulling the q-tip out a few seconds later. Clean as a whistle. "Well, no gun residue. So even if this gun works – which it doesn't-" To prove this, the officer tried to pull the trigger with his index finger, but the trigger stuck fast, "-he didn't fire any shots. He's not lying."

Tony licked jelly off his fingers. "So back to square one, huh?"

"Not quite." Jacob put the revolver down and pulled a metal tray closer to him, picking up a pair of tweezers. Adjusting the frames on his face, he clicked the tweezers before reaching down, picking up the lone item in the tray.

The detective's content face quickly twisted into a sickened one. "Ugh! Why are you showing me a fetus? I'm eating here!"

Jacob rolled his eyes. "It's the bullet from Brendan's shoulder. Brendan's surgeon got it out and delivered it here." He twisted his hand back and forth, observing the bullet from all sides. Though still tainted red with Brendan's blood, the bullet's metallic surface shined though, the point of the bullet glinting in the light. "We can use the bullet to determine what gun was used. While we'll still have a lot of suspects to shuffle through, this will surely narrow it down."

Tony threw the rest of his sandwich in his mouth, chewing quickly and swallowing it down. "Looks like .40 ammo," he said, breathing his fresh peanut butter breath against Jacob's face.

Jacob quickly swatted the air in front of him with his free hand like a disturbed Meowth. "God, you smell. Anyway, I think so too. Er, about it being a .40."

"So most likely the shooter was using a hand held gun. So he had to be close to the window." Detective Tony pounded his fists on the table, causing the items on the table to rattle. "Dammit, Jacob. We're getting no where with this. All we're doing is reconfirming what we already know. And even then, you know how many guns use .40 ammo?" He looked down, noticing a disc enclosed in a clear, plastic case. He picked it up, puzzled. "What's this?"

"Hmm?" Jacob put the bullet back down in the tray and looked at what Tony was holding. "Oh. Lieutenant Homer sent that over. Said some anonymous tipster gave that to the department, and he delivered it to us seeing as we're in charge of this case."

The detective rolled his eyes. "He wanted this case, didn't he?"

"Well, he certainly was bitter when he heard that we were in charge, if I recall."

"Whatever." Tony opened the case, taking the disc out, examining its glossy surface from both sides. "Hmm, no label. Know what it is?"

"God, porn I hope. We can watch it together."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "... I hope you're kidding."

"Of course. I never got that entire 'watch porn with guys' thing. I mean, why would you want to do that? When I was seventeen or so, my friend invited me to watch porn, and all I wondered during that entire awkward moment was 'Latios, why is this guy wearing so much cologne?'"

"I am disturbed, yet a little amused."

"I was aiming for that. Anyway, I think it's just a DVD of Brendan's party."

Detective Tony put the disc into its holder and closed it, waving it the air a bit. "Mind if I take this? I have an idea."

"Uh, I guess not." The officer pushed his chair away from the table, stretching his legs. "Why?"

"I know it's a little unprofessional, but I'd like to watch this DVD with a few of our suspects. You know, to get inside their head and see how they _really_ feel. Personal interpretation. Etcetera."

The officer looked worried. "You know they'll just fake their feelings or emotions if you're watching them like that."

"Now who said I would be there?" The detective smirked, tapping the case against the palm of his hand. He headed toward the exit and turned around, once again leaning on the door frame. "I'll be back. I have to interrogate Professor Birch."

"And I'll be in here, hunting down gun owners in the Littleroot area. You know, doing the _actual work._"

"Yeah, yeah."

- - -

"How long are we going to be here? I really would like to get back to my son."

"Not that long at all, Professor," said the detective, scribbling down notes on a yellow notepad. He nibbled on the pen cap for a bit before lifting his head, staring into the troubled eyes of Brendan's father. The poor professor was a mess. His thick, brown hair stuck up in an unusually messy fashion, and his dark eyes were bloodshot. Covering his wide build was a splotched, navy blue shirt underneath his infamous white lab coat, and his wrinkled khaki shorts revealed his mismatched shoes, one being a sandal and the other being a sneaker. Something smelled musky, and Tony was positive it was Professor Birch and not his peanut butter breath. He brushed this aside though. "Not that long at all. I do have some questions for you though."

Professor Birch sighed, gripping the sides of the cold desk, preparing himself. "All right. Go ahead."

Detective Tony flipped through his notepad, his eyebrows furrowing together. "Where were you when Brendan was shot?"

He thought for a bit before answering. "I was upstairs sleeping," Professor Birch replied. "It was four in the morning, and Brendan said he was going to stay up a bit longer to clean up. My wife went to bed earlier, and I was knocked out as soon as my head hit the pillows."

"And ... you heard no gun being fired? No glass breaking? No sound of your son screaming for help?"

The professor cringed at the last part but shook his head. "Nothing at all. I'm pretty sure I would have heard something since the master bedroom is directly above the living room where Brendan was shot. I must have been more tired than I thought."

Detective Tony flipped through his notepad, continuing to scribble, the scratch of his pen against the paper somewhat comforting in the tense situation. "So if you heard nothing, how did you find Brendan's body downstairs?"

"It wasn't me. The wife woke up suddenly and found Brendan herself."

_Shift. Shake. Creak. Tremble. Whimper._

_He then woke up to_ _an annoying shaking._

"_I hear something," said Professor Birch's Wife, leaning over her husband and shaking him by the arm, the silk of her light pink nightgown brushing up against his skin. "Do you hear it too?"_

_He grunted and tried to swat her arm away, rolling over so his back was to his wife._

"_I feel worried."_

_He answered her with a snore._

"_I'm going to check downstairs."_

_He ignored this, hearing the ruffle of blankets being tossed to the side and the creak of the springs as his wife got up from the bed. The floorboard groaned underneath her weight as she shuffled her way to the door, opening it with the push of the brass doorknob. Her slippered feet soon faded away as she made her way toward the spiral staircase._

_Silence. Lovely silence._

_Then he heard a scream, jolting him from his dreams._

"_Oh, god! BRENDAN! Call 9-1-1!"_

"She says it was 'motherly instinct.'"

The detective was suspicious. Something didn't feel right. The professor seemed half awake in his story – even though he said he wasn't earlier – and his wife seemed to be pretty awake as well. Under those circumstances, it seemed impossible for either one of them not to hear the gunshot. Nevertheless, he had no proof of this and wrote "silencer?" on his notepad, circling it twice.

"Did Brendan have any enemies?"

The professor snorted. "He is the Hoenn League Champion, isn't he?"

"Well ..." Tony looked to the side shiftily. "I mean someone that would want to hurt him. Rivals can be mean and all, but most wouldn't go to the extent of trying to _murder_ him."

Restless, the professor squirmed in his seat as he thought. "Well, he did have a tango with Team Aqua once. It wasn't anything huge, like flawing one of their plans. He just battled some Aqua member and managed to get back some documents for Captain Stern. Something about the submarine he's developing. The poor boy had no idea what he was trying to get back when he did it."

"Ah, right. I remember reading about that in the newspaper," muttered the detective, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers together, resting his chin on his enclosed hands. "So what you're saying is that you think a Team Aqua might have a ... grudge against Brendan.

He shrugged. "It's possible, isn't it?" replied the professor.

"True. I'll keep that in mind."

- - -

He wanted to. God, how he wanted to.

That twit Wally was making faces and picking his nose at the one-sided mirror, the mirror being on Wally's side. Little did he know that Detective Tony was standing on the other side, observing him and the others in the room, his arms crossed. A thin string of professionalism held him back from smacking the glass and scaring the poor boy, but he'd have his chance. One day. One lovely, absolutely awesome day.

Nevertheless, the detective had a job to do, and he patiently waited as Wally left the mirror to sit back down in his seat, crossing his arms and scowling. The only source of light that illuminated the observing room he was in was the reflected sunshine from the waiting room, casting the detective's face in a golden yet eerie glow. Occasionally, the complicated machine next to him (also known as a DVD player) beeped impatiently and the ticking of the clock on the wall echoed through the tiny room.

"What are we doing here anyway?" he heard the green-haired boy say.

Detective Tony's eyes jumped from Wally to the sniffling May, a tissue clutched in her hand. She uncurled herself from the ball she was on the couch. "In-inter-interrogation, r-right?"

"How long are we going to be here?" he whined, hopping from his chair again and pacing the floor. He stopped at the window and pressed his forehead against it, sunlight streaming down into the room. "I'm so bored!"

"You're going to smudge the window," muttered Norman who was sitting next to May, rubbing her back comfortingly.

"Meh."

"He does bring up a point though," said the silver-haired champion known as Steven, brushing away the loose bangs that danced across his eyes. "Wally and May have both been interrogated, yet they're not releasing them yet. Likewise, Professor Birch was demanded to bring back Brendan once he's released from the hospital."

As soon as these words escaped his lips, the doorknob jiggled and twisted before opening, revealing the thick build of the professor and the leaner, more gawky figure of Brendan, his left arm cast in a sling so he wouldn't shift or disturb the bandaging to his shoulder. The detective immediately sensed an air of hostility, especially between Brendan and that twat named Wally.

"What's he doing here?" Brendan complained, nudging his head toward Wally as he trudged his way into the room, his dad closing the door behind him.

"The same reason why you're here, Birch," muttered Wally coolly. "We're being questioned."

"I don't see why _I_ need to be questioned. I was the one that got shot after all," complained the white-haired boy, noticing a free seat next to the couch Steven was sitting on, slumping into it, getting lost in the cushions."

Steven patted Brendan's back sympathetically. "You're a crucial part to the investigation, Brendan. After all, you were the only witness to what happened."

"I guess."

Brendan, Wally, May, Norman, Steven, and Professor Birch. They were all here.

Detective Tony picked up a remote control, running a finger down its hard, plastic panel. He then pointed the control toward the machine next to him, and the machine buzzed and crackled, the small, red bulb next to its many buttons turning green. He then pointed the remote toward the mounted television in the corner of the waiting room, watching as it sizzled and snapped as it turned on, surprising the occupants in the room.

"What's going on?" was what he heard amongst the mutters.

The detective smirked. "And let it begin."


End file.
